The following story was submitted as an entry in The Wanderer's third annual Halloween Writing Contest.

"The Mystery of a Wolf" by Kyra Lorden

Many years ago, when I was still the baby of the family, my swift-footed sister ran into the woods. We were a family of trackers, and hunters, but my unique sister would often run into the woods to gather berries. She reminded me so of a young deer, fast and wielding, but ever so delicate. She would always be the one to wander distractedly to another place, to and fro.

So it came that no one thought of her periodic absences much. One day I dreamed fitfully, and when I finally awoke, I had a strange feeling, down to the core of me. I then followed my sister to the woods on a night of the full moon, and that night, I lost my sister to a handsome stranger. He was tall, dark, and handsome, just as my mother described my late father. He had shaggy brown hair, a ton of the thick stuff. He lips were... black, like a wolf's lips. He had luminous golden eyes. He let off an aura of fear, hunger, and pure power. I ran when I saw him, scared out of my wits.

My lovesick sis never returned. I never told anyone what happened, not the little I knew. They accepted this and let me be. Then, as a young man, I dreamed of walking to far-off places. I promised myself I would find her, and track her down. I followed her, but never strayed too far from the village. Then, three nights before Halloween, as the Englishmen call it, she appeared. She kept on repeating "My family has been killed. My family got murdered by the lone wolf!" She repeated this over and over, even would mumble it in her sleep.

Then, on the night of Halloween, the devil's day, it was a full moon once more. My nervous sister could not sleep. Then came a single, bloodshot wolf. Screams split the air, mostly from my sister. The savage wolf dipped in, biting my sister upon the arm. Then it disappeared without a trace, so that even a skilled tracker like myself could not find it. Meanwhile, my pain-racked sister stared at me. Her hazel eyes turned a shade of gold, and her dark hair turned gray; thick and shaggy like a wolf's mane. A transformation was completed, and my extremely wolfish sister turned on all of our family, and slaughtered them. Averting her golden eyes from me in shame, she leaped into the woods. Like the sister I knew, she ran fast and rapid, far and distant. And so, to this day, I would never hunt a wolf, in fear it was a remnant of my sister, afraid it might turn on me as my sister turned on my family.